Into Hell We Go
by Great Thumbs of Wisdom
Summary: Chapter 3 is up! Big battle, makes no sense. Read it. Anyway. The story itself is about the Gears of Gnasher Squad shot down in enemy territory while investigating a mysterious occurance in Ephyra. Rated for intense violence and coarse language.
1. Let the gore run

**W00T! Third Gears fic EVER! W00T!**

**... Uh, yeah. Just read it. I promise you, it is SWEET!**

**Oh, by the way, if you have a Gears of War fic posted before me, I will kill you. I was waiting patiently for the Gears of War page to pop up so I could have the first fic, but NOOO, you guys had to get here two seconds after it opened! (don't give me that look! I was just kidding! now stop pointing your torque-bows at me. seriously.)**

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The Gears of Gnasher Squad made their way through the ruined city blocks, Lancers, Gnashers and other assorted weaponry at the ready. On point was Sergeant First Class Avery Saunders, a veteran of the Pendulum Wars and an experienced soldier, armed with a Lancer assault rifle and Gnasher shotgun. Behind him was Corporal Raphael Santiago, fifth cousin of famed soldier Dominic Santiago (twice removed), and Saunders' childhood friend.

So far, not a single Hostile had been encountered. This was strange, considering that Gnasher Squad was deep into enemy territory with no support, no radio contact, and no way out. They should have been up to their necks in Grubs, Wretches, Grenadiers, Boomers and Snipers. But they weren't. And this made them all the more uneasy.

Dalton Custer, Private First Class, ran his gloved fingers through his dirty blonde hair. Why the hell wasn't he being shot at by Locust snipers yet? The thought occured to him that the Locust might be setting a trap. But where?

"Hey Custer!"

Dalton turned his head around to look at who was talking to him. It was Private Norman Terroll, better known by his nickname as "Target Terroll." Everyone in Gnasher Squad knew for a fact that Norman had been a runner-up in the Academy for "most likely to get shot," second only to some guy named John A. Carmine, who Dalton figured had probably been killed by now.

"What is it?" sighed Dalton, keeping up his steady pace.

"Just wanting to know," started Norman, his voice slightly muffled behind his helmet. "But how many of those sons of bitches have you killed?"

"What, the Locust?"

"Yeah, them."

Dalton thought for a moment. "Not really that many. About 6 or 7. Of course, my job isn't to rush out in the open and shoot stuff with lots of bullets; I'm a sharpshooter. I'm the one who stays back and avoids direct combat."

Norman looked slightly disappointed. "Well, what's it like?"

"To kill them? Satisfying, especially if you can hit them in just the right place. This one grub, he stood up behind a big piece of rubble, and I just shot him, right in the head. It was the most satisfying thing in the world. His head _pop_, like a watermellon."

"Really?" asked the young man eagerly.

"Oh yeah," chuckled Dalton, patting his trusty sniper rifle. "In fact, it didn't just pop, it frickin' _exploded_!"

"Wow! _Cool_!"

"Hey," snapped Jacob Edwards, a big, sturdily built black man armed with a shotgun and a ton of grenades. "Sorry to interupt your lil' conversation, but you fucktards better shut yo' fuckin' mouths, 'fore I kick yo' asses and let the snipers pop a cap in ya."

Jacob turned back to face the front, and for a moment there was silence. Then...

"Is he always like that?"

"Yup," replied Dalton. "Always..."

Then came the low, gravelly growl. Sergeant Saunders stopped immediately, holding up a hand to tell his squad to do likewise. Not only did they follow the order, they remained as still and silent as statues, their eyes flicking back and forth behind helmets and goggles. But nothing else was heard, not even the wind.

After a minute, Raphael spoke. "What is it, Ave?"

"Shhh..." warned the sergeant, holding his hand out to stop his friend. The corporal complied and remained silent.

For what seemed like hours, the six Gears stood stock still in the middle of the narrow, rubble-strewn street, nervously scanning each ruined building, each shattered window, for any sign of movement. Nothing. Not even the wind.

"It's quiet," muttered Saunders at last, his gravelly voice kept to the bare minimum of decibels.

"...Too quiet," continued Raphael, squinting at one of the nearby buildings.

Saunders just nodded. "Still, just sitting out here in the open isn't all that smart. We're sitting ducks out here."

"...Yeah..." Raphael continued scanning the alleyways and abandoned buildings.

Saunders turned to the rest of the squad. "Alright, Gears," he barked, "Move out!" Of course, the squad obeyed and within seconds they were moving methodically through the ruined, twisted masses of rubble, abandoned buildings, mangled cars and the occasional remains of several unfortunate Stranded.

As anybody could probably guess, but unknown to the Gears, a highly proficient Locust Sniper had them square in its sights.

What happened next was something that would scar everyone involved forever.

BLAM!!

With a cry of shock and surprise, Norman collapsed to his hands and knees, a bullet wound in his chest. The other five Gears scattered, taking cover behind various mangled cars and chunks of rubble. No orders were needed; instinct had taken over.

BLAM!!

Another shot rang out, showering Corporal Vinny Mclintoc with fragments of concrete. He pulled himself down lower, gripping his Vulcan flamethrower with both hands like it was the last thing left in the world beside him, the rubble he hid behind and the sniper that had him in its sights.

Nearby, Saunders raised his head over a gutted, burnt out car.

BLAM!!

He quickly ducked back down, panting hard, Lancer gripped white-knuckle in his hands.

BLAM!! Another shot rang out. This time, it managed to richochete off the hood of a truck and nick Saunder's cheek. Giving a yell of surprise, he stumbled backwards, throwing himself prone to the ground.

"Sare, you alright?" Jacob yelled from nearby.

"Goddamnit, yes!" the sergeant yelled back, breathing fast, his heart beating close to a million miles an hour.

"Ungh..."

Saunders looked over his shoulder and saw Norman, now sprawled out on the asphault, painting it crimson red with his blood. "My God..." he muttered.

BLAM!!

The sniper's bullet richocheted off the ground just a few inches from Norman's helmeted head. Realizing that the sniper was going to kill the young man, the sergeant leaped to his feet and sprinted forward, ducked low, to get to him.

BLAM!!

The bullet whizzed past Saunders' face, nipping his ear. Out of pure instinct, the hardened Gear dived to the side, landing behind a chunk of rubble. Beside him was Mclintoc, gripping his Vulcan flamethrower like a dead body with rigor-mortis.

"Vinny! Get Norman!" barked Saunders, pointing at the wounded soldier's position. "I'll cover you!"

For a split second, Vinny paused, but that hesitation quickly passed when Saunders started firing his lancer at the fourth story window the Locust sniper was hiding in. Hearing that, the Gear dropped his Vulcan and sprinted towards his fallen comrade. Fifteen feet... ten feet... five feet... There!

RATTATTATTA!! RATTATTATTA!! RATTATTATTA!!

On the other hand, he was now under heavy fire from Locust Drones. And by the looks of it, there were at least two dozen of them swarming down the street towards the beleagured Gears.

"Shit!"

Vinny quickly snatched up Norman's Lancer in one hand and Norman himself in the other hand. Like a cat on a hot tin roof, he skedaddled out of there, dragging Norman with one hand while firing at the Drones with the Lancer held in the other. "EAT LEAD, ASSHOLES!!"

As this was going on, Saunders was still shooting at the Locust sniper. The moment his clip ran dry he ducked back into cover and slammed another one home with a satisfying CLICK. Little did he know, he'd already hit his target, striking the Locust in the neck.

Inside the building, the sniper was recouperating from the shot. Though not fatal, the sniper being a Locust after all, it was still quite painful and was streaming blood. Even so, it was going to make Gear that had shot it pay. The sniper began to reload.

Just as Saunders was about to lean back out and start shooting, Vinny arrived with Norman, who had to be dragged by his armor the entire way. "We've got grubs!" he yelled, dropping his new lancer's now-empty clip and taking another one off of Norman's belt. He slammed it home and raised the Lancer, spraying bullets at the oncoming Drones. Saunders turned, saw them, and opened fire as well. Three of the grubs went down almost instantly, all of them dead and gushing blood.

Unfortunately, the drones were now taking cover and using suppressive fire to advance forward. Vinny and Saunders were forced back down to the ground, the worst part being that they had no cover, and little hope of killing every last drone. Unless the sniper was dead, and it wasn't, then these Gears were doomed.

"Dalton!" barked Saunders, firing at the exposed head and chest of a drone.

About twelve yards away, Dalton heard Saunders' yell and replied with a very loud "What?!"

Saunders hooked a thumb at the sniper's position. "Take out that son of a bitch!"

Dalton grinned and, raising his head out from behind a fallen block of concrete, pointed his longshot at the grub's position. He was a bit surprised to see it was already leaning out the window and aiming its next shot, but he quickly shook it off, pointed at the head, and fired. The grub's head exploded like a watermellon, leaving the body with no other choice but to tumble out the window and fall four stories to the ground below.

"Whoo yeah baby!" laughed Dalton, only wishing Norman had seen what had just happened. "You just got _owned_!"

Hammerburst bullets spraying his position quickly Dalton to get his head back down.

Meanwhile, Norman was losing a lot of blood. However, with the Locust sniper gone, Vinny and Saunders were able to drag him around to the other side of a chunk of rubble and begin tending to him.

"Hang on kid," muttered Saunders, dropping his lancer in favor of holding the medical supplies. It seemed the heavy caliber bullet had passed clean through him without so much as nicking a heart or a lung. The bad part was that Norman was still losing a lot of blood and his body had gone into shock.

"Will 'e live, sir?" asked Vinny in his trademark Irish accent. He'd grabbed his flamethrower, but didn't want to waste anything unless necessary, so he was sticking with Norman's dropped lancer.

"He's losing too much blood and he's gone into shock," Saunders yelled back over the sound of gunfire. "If we don't get him to a surgeon soon, he'll die!"

Nearby, a loud, brutish yell was uttered from the mouth of a massive Locust: "Boom!"

WVHOOSH-**BOOM!!**

Bits of rubble and clouds of dust covered the two COG soldiers. Being without a helmet, it was all Saunders could do not to choke.

"Shit!" cried Raphael from behind a truck. "It's a Boomer!"

"We already knew that, jackass!" yelled Jacob, as he took one of his numerous bolo-grenades and threw it in the general direction of a cluster of Drones.

"For Queen!" the gargantuan Locust gargled, pointing its heavy boomshot towards Jacob's position.

"Aw, sh--"

WVHOOSH-**BOOM!!**

What the Gear said next was drowned out by the explosion. What he said next was a different story.

"Alright, that sonova-bitch is dead! Cover me!"

Bullets flew by as Jacob rushed out, ducked low, and began to move like a mad-man towards the Boomer. As he did so, Dalton leaned out and took a quick shot at the big Locust, hitting it square in its bulging belly, though it easily remained standing. And, unfortunately for Jacob, it had just reloaded.

"Boom!"

"Aw crap, aw crap, aw crap!"

Jacob skidded to a stop and rolled behind a car. The next thing he knew, an explosion had sent him flying.

"Aww... Damn..." he groaned when he came to his senses. It felt like he'd just recieved a season pass for front-row seats at a very loud parade, and the sound of gunshots certainly wasn't helping any.

Meanwhile, Dalton had just reloaded and was leaning out to get a headshot on the Boomer, when a lucky Hammerburst shot knocked his Longshot clean out of his hands.

"Holy shit!!"

Dalton hunkered back down low, Hammerburst slugs richocheting off his position. The Boomer yet again yelled "Boom," announcing to all the world what he was about to do. Dalton ducked lower.

WVHOOSH-**BOOM!!**

Bits of debris and lots of dust covered the COG sniper; the shockwave of the explosion travelled through the concrete block he hid behind and nearly knocked him over.

A minute later, after shaking the ringing noise out of his head, Dalton scrambled to his feet. Dust and tiny bits of debris covered his already grimey face.

"What the hell are you doing?" screamed Raphael from his position nearby. "Get down!"

"I've gotta get my rifle!" yelled Dalton in reply, sprinting towards the weapon. It wasn't that far away, and looked to be still operational. Dalton should have known better than to go after it.

Amazingly, though at least a dozen Locust drones were firing at him with their Boltoks and Hammerbursts, Dalton wasn't hit once. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, spurring him to new heights of bravado. The thought occurred to dive on top of the longshot, grab it, and roll back to his knees to take a shot at the Boomer. It would have been better if he'd just grabbed the Longshot and dived behind something.

The action went perfectly. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, and those who could were watching; namely Vinny and Raphael. Saunders was busy with a pair of grubs giving him the bum's rush.

Dalton dived, grabbed the Longshot in mid-roll, brought it up to eye level, finger on the trigger, and came up to one knee for the perfect shot on the Boomer. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

Unfortunately, a bolo-grenade had just clattered down at his feet.

"What the hell?"

"For Queen!" the Boomer yelled.

WVWHOOSH-**BOOM!!**BEEBEEBEEP!**BA-BANG!!**

The grenade and the Boomer's shot exploded at exactly the same time, at exactly the same spot. Chunks of meat and assorted body parts flew in all directions, accompanied by a spray of blood, scraps of armor, and lots of dust & debris.

Raphael gasped. "Holy mother of..."

A second grenade that had landed nearby blocked out whatever the shocked Gear said next, along with knocking him clean off his feet.

"Grenadier!" Raphael managed to yell as he pulled himself off the ground.

Saunders heard his friend's yell and quickly whipped around to see not one, not two, but _three_ Locust grenadiers moving in with Gnasher shotguns and frag-grenades in hand. And then there was the small matter of a second wave of Locust following behind them.

"Shit!" the sergeant yelled, pulling his lancer up to bear and firing at the grenadiers.

Meanwhile, Jacob had recovered from his near-death experience and was now almost face to face with the Boomer. He just had to wait for it to fire, then attack while it reloaded. The drones beside it made that strategy a little hard to accomplish, however.

"Boom!"

Jacob grinned a toothy smile. He knew his cue when he heard it.

"Oh, yeah baby, bring it on!"

Jacob sprinted out from behind cover the moment the Boomer fired its boomshot. A drone whipped around to face him with its Hammerburst, but Jacob was quicker, quickly blowing half its upper body off with a single gnasher blast. The Gear ignored the other drone, pulled out a grenade, and lashed out at the Boomer with all its might. Slow and dimwitted, it didn't notice him until right up to that moment, giving him plenty of time to dive out of the way.

"Tag, _bitch_!"

BEEBEEBEEP!

**BA-BANG!!**

Big chunks of Boomer went flying in all directions. Its heavy boomshot arced through the air and struck the nearby drone square in the face just as it was pulling the trigger, knocking its aim off just in time for it to miss Jacob by the narrowest of margins.

Seconds after this had happened, over at the other end of the battlefield, the first grenadier jumped over the wall of rubble that seperated it from Raphael. Seeing it coming, the COG soldier stood up and revved up his chainsaw bayonet.

"Suck it!"

The grenadier yelled long and loud in agonizing pain and horror, its arms flailing in all directions, as Raphael buried the bayonet deep in its exposed flesh. Flesh, meat and lots of blood sprayed in every direction, before the body finally collapsed, splintered ribcage and sheared spinal column exposed. Raphael quickly ducked back behind cover, warm, red blood streaming off his armor.

Seeing the other two grenadiers and at least four drones coming up on Raphael, Saunders turned to Vinny and said, "Take care of Norm, don't let yourself get shot."

"Yesiree," laughed Vinny, switching out the lancer in favor of his trusty Vulcan flamethrower. Superheated napalm flames streamed forth, disintegrating flesh and scorching bone and rubble alike. "Ha, ha, ha, ha! Die Bitches!"

Saunders ducked his head and ran, firing his lancer at the drones and grenadiers as he went. Raphael was blindfiring over the edge of his fallen pillar, and had already killed two drones.

Just as Raphael's clip ran dry, Saunders arrived at his side, slamming up against the fallen pillar.

"Satisfying?" asked Saunders, referring to the chainsaw incident.

"Yeah, just great. I think I've got some in my eye."

Raphael wiped at his eye, allowing Saunders a rare laugh. "Son of a bitch got what he deserved!"

Raphael just nodded and stuffed a new clip into his lancer. "Flank right, I'll flank left. 3... 2..."

Saunders quickly switched out his lancer for his gnasher. Making sure it was ready, he steeled himself for combat.

"...1... let's do this!"

The two hardened Gears rushed out from behind opposite sides of the fallen pillar, guns blazing. Raphael downed the second grenadier just as it was preparing to throw one of its grenades, and as he ran past he kicked it hard in the face, knocking out at least half its front teeth. At about the same time, Saunders made chunks out of one of the drones, before diving over the hood of a car. What he ran in to was the third grenadier. And it had a grenade.

Saunders was in no position to fire his shotgun. So he swung it. Hard. The Locust stumbled backwards, spitting teeth. The bad part was that Saunders had had a bad grip on the weapon, and the blow he delt sent it flying out of his hands. Still, he didn't have enough time to grab it or go for another weapon, so he decided tackling the grenadier was the next best thing.

The Locust and the Gear traded numerous punches, before the grenadier went in for the kill with its grenade. Saunders ducked, and the grenade's spikes buried themselves in the car door. Surprised, the grenadier froze up for just a second, giving Saunders a chance to rise up and deal a devestating right hook to the chin. It fell against the car, even as Saunders was picking up his shotgun and diving for cover.

The grenadier looked over at the grenade, just inches from its face.

BEEBEEBEEP!

"Graa--"

**BA-BANG!!**

The first thing to go was the right half of the grenadier's face. The next thing that happened was the grenadier's body was ripped apart by the explosion and scattered over half the block.

Meanwhile, Vinny was quite preoccupied with an overeager Locust drone.

"Would tha' be extra-crispy or well-done?" laughed the Mclintoc, coating the grub in a ball of firey napalm. It shrieked aloud and fell dead on the ground, thick black smoke billowing off of its scorched corpse.

And then the emergence holes started opening up. Two appeared in front of Vinny, another popped open near Dalton's remains, and a fourth opened up not too far away from Saunders and Raphael.

"Shit!"

The nearest hole was about average size; it was just about small enough for a grenade to seal it up, and only two drones popped up. The other one was a different story; from it, three Boomers, at least a dozen drones, and several grenadiers came up. Soon after, a car tumbled down into the gaping hole, seemingly swallowed up by the darkness.

Taking cover, Vinny took a grenade off his belt and primed it. Waiting just a second, he tossed it over his head in the general direction of the hole, hoping to close it up. He got lucky. In the ensuing blast, one of the drones was torn apart and the second killed when shrapnel carved through the back of its skull. The emergence hole collapsed in on itself from the shockwave, killing or trapping anything that might have been coming up out of it.

Vinny had one more grenade. He decided to use it, and threw it as hard as he could straight at two of the Boomers, before quickly ducking back down. One of the two Boomers fired, not noticing the quickly-beeping grenade at its feet. The second Boomer looked down with a confused look on its face as the grenade rolled up it its feet with a barely audible _clank_.

BEEBEEBEEP!

"Ugh?"

**BA-BANG!!**

The Boomer was blasted up into the air, blown apart and missing both legs, before coming back down on the lip of the emergence hole. It gave a low moan, and then slid backwards into the darkness. The second Boomer was a little luckier; it survived the blast, but barely. The bad thing (for it) was that it fell backwards into the hole, firing a rocket from its boomshot as it went. The little rocket went up, almost perfectly, eventually arcing off to the side and crashing into a building with a loud BOOM!

"Two down an' one ta' go," grinned Vinny as he switched to the lancer and opened up on the drones. One of them, running at full tilt towards an overturned truck, caught a bullet in the eye and flew lazily towards the ground. Another was hit repeatedly in the chest and collapsed on all fours, blood rushing out of multiple wounds. The third Boomer was hit as well, reacting passively to the hits as it reloaded its boomshot for another attack.

"Boom!"

Now, you may think that the Boomer was firing at Vinny. Well, you're wrong. It was firing at good ol' Jacob Edwards, who was hunkered down with a few more grenades and his trusty shotgun.

As the dust from the boomshot blast settled, a drone gave Jacob's position the bum's rush. The hardened Gear replied by blindfiring around a corner and tearing the grub's head apart with buckshot. Hardly in one piece, it continued forward a few feet before sliding headfirst up to Jacob's block of rubble. The Gear looked down at the mess of gristle and blood that had once been the drone's head and chest.

"Woo, baby!" he yelled at the corpse. "This is my kinda' shit!"

Two more drones rushed Jacob, but these were wiser and took cover. Unfortunately, they took cover in the wrong spot, and the big man blew them to hell with one of his handy-dandy frag-grenades. After the explosion of body parts and rubble, a drone's hand landed in Jacob's lap, which he gleefully held above his head for all the grubs to see. Angry barks and growls shortly followed, and when Jacob looked around the corner, he saw two things:

1: the Boomer was getting very close.

2: the grubs had brought wretches.

"Crap!"

"Boom!"

Jacob quickly ducked back down and weathered yet another explosion. The Boomer was only about ten feet away, and closing in one lumbering footstep at a time. Several wretches sprinted past it on all fours, shrieking like banshees. One came around the corner. Another jumped up on top of Jacob's cover. The third went around the other side.

"Ah, shit!" Jacob yelled, rolling away from a blow by one of the Wretches. All three came at him, from both flanks and the side. Running backwards, the Gear fired at them with his shotgun, taking two down before running dry on shells. With no time to reload and little hope of outreaching the wretch's attacks, Jacob pulled out his snub-pistol and fired five times into the wretch's head. Dead, it fell face-first on the sidewalk and skidded towards him on its own blood.

"Yah baby, that's what'cha get for messin' with Jacob Edwards! I'ma gonna represent yo' ass all over the hood!"

"Boom!"

Jacob looked up at the approaching Boomer, which was pointing its boomshot straight at his chest

"Oh damn!"

Realizing he was without cover, Jacob gave a yell of fear and dived backwards, landing flat on his back. The boomshot's heavy-duty shell zoomed just over his face, the heat-wave it left practically cooking Jacob's already black features.

"Oh, that's it ya' big ugly bastard!" the big Gear yelled madly as he got to his feet and shoved a shell into his shotgun. "It's _on_ now!"

The Boomer continued walking forward as it reloaded, a loud, deepthroated growl slowly building up in it's chest. Surprised to see the big black man walking toward it, gnasher shotgun swinging in one hand, it faltered. Most Gears ran from the Boomers in fear! Why not this one? Still, it didn't matter, just made it easier for the Boomer to kill him with its boomshot. The Boomer felt the new clip click into place and raised its boomshot to bear.

"_Boom_."

RATTATTATTATATTATTATATTATA!!

Lancer bullets began to hit the Boomer by the dozens, stripping flesh off its skull and sending blood spraying out of bullet wounds in the neck. The Boomer froze, finger still on the trigger, before slowly falling off to the right onto the asphault of the street. As it fell, it managed to pull the trigger on the boomshot, though the rocket went wide and hit the brick wall just a few feet in front of Jacob.

"Holy shit!" Jacob yelped, shielding his eyes from shrapnel with his arms.

"You owe me for that one!" came Vinny's voice from the other side of the street, where he hid inbetween a wrecked car and a chunk of rubble.

Jacob looked over at his squad-mate with an pure anger. "Hell no! I don't owe you nuthin', asshole! You just stole my kill!"

"Din't see yore' name on it!" Vinny yelled back, turning his attention back to several grubs and a grenadier moving in on his position.

Jacob too turned back to the battle at hand, advancing forward to blow apart another couple dozen wretches and drones.

Of course, it was at about that time that Saunders' voice came rumbling from down the street: "Fall back! Fall back! Get the hell out of here!"

"Aw, c'mon chief!" Jacob yelled back, "I was just startin' to get my kill on!"

Vinny cupped his gloved, smoke-smelling hands over his mouth and yelled at Jacob from across the street.

"Jacob, help me with Norman!"

Jacob looked over at Vinny from his position in the middle of the street. "Why the hell should I help you? I should kick yo' ass for stealin' my kill!"

Vinny fired a few dozen shots into the unarmored chest of a grenadier. "Ya', ya', I'm so scared I just soiled me kilt. Now are you gonna' help me with him or do ya' want tha' poor kid ta' die?"

Jacob sighed, took his last grenade, and tossed it at over the top of a car, where it landed in the lap of several unfortunate drones. Using the blast of rubble and body parts as a distraction, the big man got up and made for Vinny's position, head down and gun at his chin. Bullets richocheted off the ground around him, some narrowly missing him and others practically making a point to hit as far away from him as possible.

"What took ya' so long?" asked Vinny, switching to his Vulcan and torching a hammerburst-wielding drone.

"The Train wuz' late, now stop talkin' 'fore I put a cap in yo' ass!"

Vinny complied, hooked his flamethrower onto his back, grabbed onto one of Norman's arms and picked up the lancer with his free hand. Jacob grabbed the other arm and switched to his pistol. Together, (if grudgingly) they helped drag him back towards Saunders and Raphael, the latter of whom was gleefully adding to his chainsaw-kill count.

Now, it would have been a bad idea to move Norman, but Vinny had managed to stop most of the bleeding and the young man was much closer to consciousness than before, but he was still in critical condition, and the two Gears had to be careful not to hurt him or jolt him; then there was the small matter they were under heavy fire and had a good chance of being shot again.

As Vinny and Jacob were dragging Norman towards them, Saunders and Raphael were also on the move towards the center of the battlefield. On the way, Raphael took one of his two remaining grenades and tossed it into the emergence hole beside the pitiful remains of Dalton's body, sealing it shut and obliterating two drones & a grenadier who were slowly clawing their way out.

Saunders pumped nearly a full clip into the chest of an advancing drone, and put the rest into the brain of a charging wretch. Unfortunately, as he reloaded he realized that he was on his next-to-last clip.

"I'm almost dry!" the sergeant yelled.

"So am I, quit bitchin!" replied Raphael, switching to his pistol and blowing the brains out of a wretch.

Vinny and Jacob arrived with Norman, who was groaning in pain. "Present and good ta' go, chief," yelled Vinny, mowing down two drones and a wretch.

"Where to, Ave?" asked Raphael, capping the skull of a Locust sniper that had just crawled out of one of the emergence holes. The corpse toppled back into the opening, longshot and all.

Saunders, crouched low, gave the area a quick onceover and decided their best choice was the alley behind him.

"The alley, go, go, go! Move it!"

Jacob and Vinny led the way, dragging Norman with them, and Saunders followed. Raphael only stopped long enough to pick up what had once been Dalton's Longshot sniper rifle; it was a little scratched and dirty, but otherwise no damage had been done to it. He put the rifle on his back, then followed the others into the alley while at the same time blowing out brains with his pistol.

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**Well, did you like it? As far as I can tell, it's pretty descriptive, absolutely chock-full of action, and the only thing it lacks is some backstory (just like the game!). So here's the rundown of what happened to Gnasher Squad:**

**Their King Raven was shot down by a Boomer as they flew over the outskirts of Ephyra, and they crashed. The pilot and co-pilot were killed instantly, but not one of the other Gears received so much as a scratch. So now Gnasher Squad has to make its way back to the nearest COG base. **

**Please leave a review. And no, I'm not really going to kill you if you posted a Gears of War story before me. I'll just be upset that I didn't get this posted sooner. :P**


	2. A good day to die

**Here it is, chapter two of INTO HELL WE GO! This one deals less with action and more of character development.**

**Anyway, on the Gears of War forums at there is this thing called Story and Characters, where author's write GoW fanfics. By far the greatest author is a guy called Black Asgard, who wrote the first full-length Gears of War novel, called Harbinger. This story is inspired by Black Asgard's fics.**

**DISCLAIMER: me no own Gears of War. The totally amazing Epic Games owns it. However, the characters of this story (and the bad guy) are totally my creation and should be treated as such; no plagarizing, dude. Seriously. (again, I don't own Gears of War, so don't sue me)**

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After their King Raven helicopter was shot down, the tattered and bruised Gears of Gnasher Squad were always on the run, constantly hunted by Locust drones, boomers and wretches through the alleyways and streets of Ephyra. They suffered major casaulties, and only one of the soldiers would survive. Not only this, but those Gears actually managed to accomplish something other than survival; they journeyed into the Hollow, were chased by nightmarish monsters, slew countless Locust warriors, and even faced off against the deadliest General the Locust Horde possessed.

But what exactly happened to that squad of grim, determined Gears? After more than two years of research and interviews, we have compiled this exhaustive report of every move those brave COG soldiers made on their journey.

This... is the story of Gnasher Squad.

**MAY 26, 11 YRS. A.E.D. (After Emergence-Day), 11:23 AM, THE OUTSKIRTS OF EPHYRA:**

Sergeant Avery Saunders, commanding officer of Gnasher Squad, was exhausted. For more than five hours he and the tired remnants of his squad had been on the run from a combined total of more than 20 legions of Locust warriors. So far, one man had died and another had been critically wounded. The dead man was Private First Class Dalton Custer, a renowned sniper and all-around likeable guy. The wounded man was new recruit Private Norman Terroll, runner up for the "most likely to get shot" award in the Academy.

The other three conscious men, Raphael Santiago (fifth cousin of Dominic Santiago, twice removed), Vinny Mclintoc, and grenadier Jacob Edwards, were also exhausted. Their faces and armor were streaked with grime and blood, and both their ammo and morale were at the lowest point they could possibly be. Jacob and Vinny were carrying Norman, who was stabilized, but still unconscious and in serious condition.

"Hey, Ave," called Raphael from the back of the group. "Is the radio online yet?"

Saunders put a gloved finger to his dried lips. "Shh! Quiet. And no, the radio is still offline."

"Prob'ly Seeders, sir," stated Jacob in his deep, baratone voice. "Wit them around, the radios ain't gonna' work for shit."

"Hah," scoffed Vinny. "Like we din't already know that, ye' dipshit."

"Watch it, asshole," growled Jacob. "One more thing outa' yo' mouth, and yo' ass is _mine_!"

Vinny chuckled. "That is tha' gayest thing ye've ever said."

"Oh, that is _it_, ya little leprechaun! Yo' ass is _mine_ now!"

Saunders felt like just shooting those two guys and leaving them to die; he was grinding his teeth flat with all the stress he had right now, and they certainly weren't helping.

At that moment, however, things went from annoying to worse.

1: Jacob dropped Norman.

2: Vinny stumbled back, trying to keep from letting Norman fall to the ground.

3: Jacob sprang forward with his hands outstretched to grab Vinny's neck.

Saunders quickly whipped around to shoot whoever was causing the commotion, but was cut short when Raphael jumped inbetween the two Gears and pulled them apart. "Alright ladies, that's enough! Break it up now, or _else_!"

Jacob backed off, a snarl on his face, and picked up on Norman's left arm again. Raphael, satisfied, strode ahead, where he and Saunders began to quietly converse. The moment the two weren't looking, Vinny raised up a hand, made a fist, and stuck out his middle finger; in other words, he flipped Jacob off. "Actually," he whispered, "That last thing was tha' gayest thing ye've ever said."

Jacob, knowing he couldn't do anything without proof, just growled and returned the obscene guesture. "Ya, you too bitch."

Meanwhile, not hearing the silent argument behind them, Saunders and Raphael discussed the game plan.

"We're in the financial district right now," muttered Raphael. "If we cut up through here," -he pointed up the street- "then we should be able to find a few Stranded to help us."

"What makes you think they'll helped us?" asked Saunders in a gravelly whisper. "We're just fascist pigs to them."

"Yeah, the COG's made me real happy too," replied Raphael. "But these guys have helped stranded Gears before. The only problem is, we'll probably have to do them a nice, juicy favor before we leave."

"Such as?" Saunders didn't like the sound of a favor for any Stranded, no matter how helpful.

"Oh, I don't know. Leave them a few guns, stay behind over the night to help guard their camp, maybe leave a couple men behind as collatoral... it depends, man."

Saunders snorted. "Yeah, and they'll probably shoot us in the back the moment we turn to leave."

"Maybe, but it's the best shot we've got. Heck, we might even run into a few of those Seeders that are jamming the radios."

"And that's a good thing?"

"Got a better plan, ol' buddy?"

Saunders shook his hands. "Fine. We'll try the Stranded camp. But that doesn't mean that I'll like it."

Raphael grinned and turned to Jacob and Vinny, who were only kept from killing each other by the young man they supported between them. "Alright ladies, get ready. We're gonna' have to fight our way up north-west and find help."

Vinny turned. "Help from who, tha' Stranded?" He laughed.

"Gee, how'd you guess?" growled Saunders. "Get moving."

Jacob and Vinny froze. "You're shittin' me," the former muttered.

"He ain't shittin' nobody," replied Raphael. "We're going. Sarge's orders. Get used to it, or stay here and hope you can find a light-source come nightfall."

Jacob shook his head. "I ain't got a good feelin' about this..."

"In what?" asked Vinny with a clever smile. "Your penis?"

Jacob glared at Vinny with a vengeance. "I swear, asshole. If we survive this, I'm gonna' have to remember to blow off yo' balls."

"Aye, and I just soiled me kilt," replied Vinny. "Now let's go..."

**ONE MILE AWAY, SEVEN MINUTES LATER:**

The street was strewn with rubble, abandoned vehicles, and blood. There were two craters, former emergence holes, one near the center of the battlefield and one a few meters to the south. Nearby was a much larger hole, and a little ways up the street were two smaller holes. Dozens of Locust bodies, and bits of Locust bodies, surrounded all of these holes, and numerous living Locust were coming up from them. But from the largest hole came something bigger; something stronger; something smarter.

IT. The General. Towering more than a head taller than the many drones that surrounded him, the General was definitely a force to be feared. He wore a huge suit of heavily ornate maroon and crimson armor, and a long leather cape trailed behind him as he walked, worn and dirty from years of use. This was _not_ your standard, every-day, corn-fed Locust drone given a gun and expected to do a good job. This was a pure-bred, high-end, finely-tuned killing machine. A huge, rigid steel sword hung on his back. In both of his massive gauntlets were huge iron wrist-blades. His long, black claws were sharp enough and tough enough to tear through an inch of forged steel. His gigantic boots were crafted for finding handholds in the caves of the Hollow, and also for crushing human skulls with a satisfying squelch. Slung in a holster at his side was a powerful boltok pistol.

This was General Berithk. The greatest Locust General of all time. Most people have only heard about such Generals as Raam, or maybe Agares. But Berithk was a thousand times worse. He collected trophies from fallen foes, or at least the worthy ones anyway. And on his belt were his three most prized trophies; the Cog-Tags of a slain Gear Lieutenant, a Gear's combat-knife, and (for a belt-buckle) half of a dead human's skull.

A few feet away from the collapsed emergence hole at the center of the battlefield, Berithk found something interesting; the boot of a dead COG soldier, the foot of that soldier still inside the boot. There were numerous other pieces of the Gear scattered around the area, along with a liberal coating of coagulated blood. The General bent down and picked up the foot, sniffing and picking at it. The thing had obviously been killed by an explosion; this was good, because it added flavor to the carcass.

Belithk took a bit out of the meat inside the boot, turned to one of the nearby drones, and asked, in a deep, guttural language, what had happened during the battle. The drone reported that a squad of Gears, six soldiers strong, had been ambushed here; one had been blown apart and another fatally wounded by a sniper. The General nodded, dismissed the drone, and walked back to the large emergence hole.

By that hole was a Reaver, a monstrous creature capable of extended periods of flight. On top of the Reaver was a turret, manned by a high-ranking Theron Guard. General Berithk strode over to the Reaver and pulled himself up onto its back, before taking the reins and ordering several higher-ranking soldiers to make search parties and find the squad of Gears.

With that, the General and his gunner disappeared into the sky in the blink of an eye, the Reaver's mighty tentacle-legs propelling them forward at more than a hundred miles an hour.

The hunt was on, and that squad wasn't getting away from Berithk. Because any squad that got this far behind Locust lines was something Berithk liked to deal with _personally_.

**MAY 26, 11 YRS. A.E.D. (After Emergence-Day), 12:15 PM, THE OUTSKIRTS OF EPHYRA:**

Gnasher Squad was carefully making it's way through the alleys of the city, trying as hard as they could to not be found. They knew this was impossible; they would eventually be seen and attacked, or ambushed. But it would be great to delay that as long as possible.

"Hey, Ave?"

Saunders turned his head to look at his childhood friend. "What?"

"Please tell me you just felt that," Raphael responded.

"Felt what?..." asked Vinny.

The squad stopped, looking in all directions and trying to figure out what Raphael was talking about.

"It was kinda' like a rumble, a vibration... but it was faint, like it was far away or..." Raphael's voice trailed off.

"...Or deep below us," continued Saunders. "Do you think it was the Locust?"

Jacob snorted. "Oh c'mon, it's always the Locust, man!"

"As much as I hate ta' say it," said Vinny. "Tha' numbskull's prob'ly right. Since when isn't it tha' Locust?"

"Point taken," replied Saunders. "Now, unless you have a reason for stopping right now, everybody get moving! Private Norman is going to die unless we can get him to an actual medic, and _soon_."

The armored Gears started up again, much to Saunders' satisfaction. They did not have enough time to stop at every little quake or rumble; the only thing they could stop for was death, a Locust ambush, or to gather ammunition from COG Ammo boxes.

For what seemed like hours, the Gears picked their way through rubble-strewn alleys, across blood-splattered streets, and away from numerous Locust soldiers. But unbeknownst to them, they had been spotted. By a Reaver flying through the sky above them as they crossed a street. There were two passengers on that Reaver; a Theron-Guard for a gunner, and a massive General as a driver.

And that squad wouldn't be going much farther if the General had anything to do about it.

**MARCH 13, TWO YEARS AGO, 9 A.E.D. (After Emergence-Day), 5:15 AM, THE EAST BARRICADE ACADEMY:**

Norman had always been gung-ho about the war; ever since Emergence Day, he'd had nothing but thoughts of killing Locust. And now he was training to be a Gear, a Coalition of Ordered Governments soldier. He was also eager to please, and went to great extents, way out of his way, to draw attention to himself. Unfortunately, he'd never been very good at that.

And right now, he was asleep.

"Alright, cadet! Wakey, wakey, wakey!"

Norman moaned and rolled over on his cot. "Leave me alone..."

"There is no 'alone' when you're in the army, cadet! Get your ass out of bed _now_, before I do it for you!"

Norman held up a fist and extended the middle finger. "I'm sleeping..."

There was a pause, and then the voice faded to a much softer and younger voice. "C'mon, man, we're _all_ gonna' suffer if you don't get out of bed!"

Norman opened an eye. "Carmine? What the hell were you _doing_?"

Carmine sat back on his own cot and shrugged. "Well, we've got roughly two minutes before you're late, and if you're late, then... well... you know what the punishment is. And we all suffer because of you."

"Point taken," groaned Norman, pulling himself upright. "Man, I feel like crap..."

Carmine laughed. "Yeah, and you _look_ like shit!"

Norman ignored his friend's comment and stood up, running a hand through his dirty-blonde hair. "I hate getting up early in the morning..."

Carmine sighed. "Yeah, me too. But we might as well get used to it, because we're gonna be here for quite a while."

"What, a year?"

"Yeah... that's starting to seem like a decade."

Norman yawned. "By then, we'll have won the war."

"Ah, maybe, maybe not," Carmine shrugged and stood up. "But at least I'm not gonna be the one who's late!"

Norman stopped mid-yawn. "Huh? Wait up!"

Carmine disappeared around a corner, yelling, "Hurry, hurry, hurry!" all the way.

**PRESENT TIME, 12:47 PM, OUTSKIRTS OF EPHYRA:**

...And now Norman was unconscious, in critical condition, and possibly bleeding internally. Life sucks sometimes, doesn't it?

A few yards ahead of the rest of the squad was Raphael; he was on point, and expected to draw the fire of any snipers or ambushers if worse came to worse. At the time, he was very much hoping that this wouldn't happen.

He wasn't very lucky.

**RATTATTATTATATATTATTATTATTATTATATATTATTATATTA!!!**

Massive bullets richocheted wildly off the rubble, concrete, and cement! Raphael threw himself to the side of the alley, behind a heavy dumpster, which was filled with years' worth of garbage. Heavy bullets ripped through the metal and trash even so, barely missing Raphael on more than a few occasions.

"Troika! Take cover!"

Vinny and Jacob scrambled for cover, dragging Norman along with them. Saunders threw himself to the ground and rolled up behind a large chunk of rubble. But not even rubble could stop Troika bullets: they richocheted away, buried themselves in the concrete, and chipped away at the edges. All Saunders knew was that he couldn't stay here forever.

"Raphael," he screamed over the noise of gunfire, "Give me cover fire!"

"What?!" cried Raphael, "Hell no!"

Saunders took his last grenade off his belt and primed it. "Do it Raph!"

Raphael realized he was going to have to stick his neck out for his friends at that moment. And that's when the sickle feeling of pre-fight nervousness kicked in. "Crap..."

Moving faster than he had previously thought possible, Raphael dived out from behind the shredded dumpster and dived behind a chunk of rubble nearby. Massive bullets richocheted off his armor at an angle; the thought occurred to Raphael that he was being shot and might be wounded. He quickly blocked it out of his head, and popped up from behind the block of rubble, lancer blazing. The bullets hit the Troika's frontal-shielding and richocheted, but Raphael kept firing. The lives of his squad-mates depended on it.

"Die, you pig-faced, goat-sucking son of a bitch! Die! Die!"

To Raphael, the Troika's bullets seemed less like bullets and more like giant missiles, whizzing past his head at speeds almost too fast to see. But he kept shooting, kept the gunner's attention focused on him and him alone; if he died, at least he could kill or help kill this gunner and keep his friends and squad-mates safe.

Just a few feet away, several yards from the Troika, Saunders readied his grenade. It was his last one, and he had to make this count. And so, knowing the very survival of his men rested on this grenade and Raphael's ability to keep the Locust's attention focused on him alone, Saunders prepared himself to throw the explosive.

"3..." the sergeant muttered under his breath, wiping sweat off his brow.

Raphael felt a bullet take off his left ear. Screaming in pain and fury, he continued firing.

Meanwhile, as this happened, Vinny and Jacob looked back down the alley to see several Locust drones with hammerbursts charging straight at them; Gnasher Squad was now surrounded and under attack from both sides. The two Gears hastily pulled out their weapons and started shooting like crazy at the drones.

"2..."

Another bullet hit Raphael in the left shoulder, blowing off the shoulder-pauldron, just as his lancer's last clip went dry. He dropped the now-useless weapon and pulled out the longshot he had picked up from the remains of Dalton's body; hardly even aiming, he swung the gun up and fired off a shot at the Troika, punching a hole in the shielding but missing the gunner.

"1... Chew on this, freak!"

Saunders popped up from behind the rubble and threw the grenade straight at the gunner's legs. It bounced twice, first off a wall and then off the concrete in front of the Troika, before clattering to a stop up against the gunner's boot. The gunner looked down but continued firing, before seeing the grenade flash three times...

...And then explode. Chunks of Locust and rubble went everywhere.

But the drones on the other side of Gnasher Squad kept coming, jumping over trash and rubble and the bodies of their fallen brethren. "Graa!" one of them screamed, firing at Vinny. The slugs went wide and hit the wall beside Vinny's head, but scared the wits out of him nonetheless. Jacob continued firing, the blasts from his gnasher shotgun killing three drones instantly and incapitating another.

Saunders jumped out from behind his chunk of rubble and sprang to Raphael's side. "Raph, are you alright?"

Raphael collapsed up against the wall beside him, gasping for breath. "Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." He ignored the fact that blood was flowing down the left side of his face.

"Fine? Fine?! Your ear's shot off!" Saunders yelled, pulling out his medical supplies.

"I'll... I'll be fine. Don't worry about me; worry about the drones."

Saunders sighed, put away the bandages, and looked his friend right in the eye. "You better be ok."

Raphael grinned. "None of us will be unless you help those two idiots fight off the drones."

The sergeant returned the grin. "Alright, but if you've been hit anywhere else, I'm gonna' kill you." And with that, he jumped up, dived up against the dumpster, and started shooting his pistol at the oncoming Locust. As he was doing this, Raphael jumped over to the other side of his block of rubble, hopped up to the Troika, and checked it over for any damage. Half of the frontal shielding had been sheared away by the grenade explosion. Everything was covered in bits of Locust and a layer of blood. One of the Troika's huge clips had been struck by shrapnel and damaged.

"Oh well," the Gear muttered. "So long as it still shoots..."

Raphael quickly grabbed the handles, pointed the Troika at the waves of Locust, and pulled the triggers. Huge bullets exploded out of the barrels, ripping through armor, flesh and bone alike. Each drone that was hit literally exploded from the force and size of the bullets that struck it; big pieces of dead Locust bounced around the alley. Several hammerburst bullets struck the Troika as it fired, but none of them did any damage; eventually, the Locust stopped coming from that side of the alley.

The other side was a different story.

"Grenadiers behind you!" Saunders yelled, looking at Raphael. The Gear quickly turned the Troika around in time to see several grenadiers rushing at him with shotguns and grenades.

"Eat lead, bastards!" he screamed, pulling the triggers and spraying a steady stream of bullets at the Locust. Blood was flowing down into his eyes and obscuring his vision, but this Gear wasn't going to let it hamper him.

"Today is a good day to die..."

**---------------------**

**Anyway, drop a review on your way out. And don't forget to check out Black Asgard's totally awesome fanfic novel, Harbinger! You owe it to Gears of War. It's that cool. Word.**

**R&R!**


	3. Blood and Souls

**Avast, thar' be a new chapter for my story! At last!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Gears of War. Neither should you, or you wouldn't be reading this. Unless you happen to be somebody who really does own the rights to Gears of War. In which case you do own it. But I repeat: I DON'T OWN GEARS OF WAR!!!**

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Lance Corporal Joseph Shepherd was no green recruit. He'd been fighting the Locust for most of his young life, and though he was still young, he already sported over half a hundred confirmed kills and received the Iron Cross for his bravery in action. The young red-haired man was a crack shot, capable of taking off a Locust drone's head from over two hundred yards away with his Longshot sniper rifle, so long as he had a relatively clear line of sight. He rarely missed when the opportunity presented itself.

CRACK! Another Locust went down, most of it's head shot clean away by Joseph's well-aimed bullet. The Gear smiled to himself as he quickly reloaded his longshot, fluidly ejecting the spent cartridge of the old bullet and slamming a new one home with a satisfying click. He was in his element.

"Push forward, no mercy for these bastards!" shouted the nearby Sergeant Pappas in his barrel-chested, gravelly voice.

The Gears were entrenched smack in the middle of the expansive Aspho Fields, not two miles from a critical Imulsion plant and its defensive structures. The Locust heavily outnumbered the valiant COG warriors, and had sent hundreds of their own troops head-long at them. Both sides had withstood heavy casualties, but it was the Locust who were the worse for the wear; each wave they sent was able to get slightly closer to the COG lines, thanks to their Emergence Holes, but were quickly slaughtered down to the last drone each time. They'd managed to get a couple of Emergence Holes not ten yards from the Gears, but these were quickly sealed off, destroying the tunnels. The Locust were forced to dig in just like their human counterparts, and the battle was now a standstill.

Sergeant Pappas leaped from the trench and charged forward, his looted Locust Hammerburst blazing wildly. His squad of nine men, Omega Squad, were almost immediately following him, making each shot count as they sprinted the sixty or so yards that made up the no-man's zone of Aspho Fields. Corporal Joseph was among them, slowing momentarily every now and then to squeeze off a critical shot from his longshot. A Locust Commander, scrambling up from it's section of the trench, attempted to shoot at him with a hammerburst; it fell backwards into the trench, the entirety of it's head obliterated by Joseph's bullet.

By now almost all of the COG soldiers in the trenches were following Omega Squad's example and charging wildly across the field of battle. They found themselves under withering fire from the Locust Troikas, which cut down many of the courageous Gears, but still they charged. As the crossfire intensified, however, they were forced to slow their pace and begin to take cover behind whatever they could find; dead Boomers, a few slain Berserkers, shallow craters, and even fallen comrades.

Private Donald Henshin didn't like it. He was a handsome man in his early thirties, with jet black hair, piercing blue eyes and a fine beard covering his chin. He'd seen combat, tasted the blood, the grit, felt the explosions singe his neckhairs, had even taken a bullet in the side. But he'd never participated in anything like this before; he was caught out in the open with virtually no survivable cover, faced with a long line of Locust, Troikas and God-knows-what-else. The agonized screams, the triumphant roars, the steady drone of explosions and heavy weapons fire... it was just too much.

A young Gear, no more than sixteen, pulled into military service long before he was ready, was suddenly cut down by a stream of Troika fire. He fell dead on his side, not twenty feet or so in front of the crouched Donald Henshin. For a moment the Private wondered if the young boy had survived, but his fleeting hopes were dashed when, a moment later, he passed by the boy and saw how chewed up by the bullets he'd been. A huge slab of flesh was missing from his torso, his ribcage half ripped from his chest, his guts pulled out into the dirt, where they had flopped in a large, gruesome mess. The young boy's sightless eyes stared up, almost pleadingly, at Donald. The man couldn't help but feel a tinge of grief tear at his chest.

There was a sudden yell from Sergeant Pappas, forcing Donald from his reverie.

"Keep moving, soldier, I told you to go, go, go!"

Donald didn't bother to respond in any way except to duck his head, raise his lancer and sprint forward. Bullets whistled through the air all around him, an explosion caused the ground to buck beneath his feet, but he kept going. He had to. If he stopped now he might never make it home to his wife and two kids. Oh, god, how he loved them. He wasn't about to let himself get chewed up by Troika fire like he'd seen that poor young boy. Not today.

And then suddenly the Gears were in the trenches, chainsawing, kicking, screaming. Great messes of blood and flesh soon covered the floor of the trench and its rims. It was every man for himself here; if you got hurt, that was your mess. You had to fight it out, had to throw aside any morals or ethical codes you might have had, and just plain live the next few seconds of your life soley to kill the enemy.

Corporal Joseph had shouldered his longshot seconds before dropping into the trench, switching to his Lancer for close-quarters. He landed in a shallow stretch of the trench, face to face with a Grenadier, but he didn't let himself scream out in fear like he wanted to; he just lashed out, knocked the battle-scarred Grenadier to the blood-strewn trench floor, and fired a burst into it's chest. There was a dead Gear, a Sergeant-Major, slumped against the wall of the trench; he'd reached it seconds before Joseph did, and had found himself on the receiving end of the Grenadier's gnasher shotgun. His body had been torn nearly in half, his stomach and guts were torn apart and strewn all around where he slumped.

Suddenly a wretch appeared in Joseph's face, manacled to a pole alongside several other wretches. With a bloodcurdling scream, it lashed out and tore a gash down the side of Joseph's face. The young man cried out in pain, staggered back against the trench wall, but with one hand he managed to raise his lancer and tear apart the vile abomination's face. With the help of another soldier, he managed to kill the remaining three wretches, easily crushing the skull of the largest one beneath his heavy metal boot.

He looked up and saw Specialist Harold Sansing, heavy-weapons expert of Omega Squad. There was a bullet wound in his left shoulder, and he was bleeding from a nasty cut on his left eyebrow, but Harold was a big man who was seemingly immune to pain. Joseph didn't worry about him, instead concentrating on revving up his chainsaw to cut his way through the Locust soldiers that blocked him and Harold off from the rest of the squad.

"Hah harr!" cried the great, bearded juggernaught as he hefted his chain-gun at the Locust that threatened to hem him in. "Cry some more!"

Blood and guts sprayed in all directions as Harold's chain-gun tore through the Locust drones like a knife through butter. Within seconds, the blood-drunk juggernaught's massive weapon had reduced the current Locust population to less than a third of it's current population. "Big Bertha," he called her, though the rest of Omega Squad called the chain-gun by the name of "Confetti Maker," referring to it's ability to spray bullets in all directions at a rate of 170 shells per minute. It was held low to Harold's waist by pure strength alone... that, and a support belt that doubled as a bullet-holding bandolier.

Meanwhile, Joseph found himself hemmed in by the overwhelming Locust force in the trench. Two more Gears jumped into the trench alongside him, one of them with a shotgun, and opened fire.

"Eat lead, you bastard!" screamed the man with the shotgun as he blew apart a Theron Guard's head.

There was a sudden explosion, killing the shotgunner almost instantly, along with at least half of the Locust that surrounded him. Joseph cursed and revved up his chainsaw, following the example of the older man at his left. He felt the reverbration through his arms as the whirring, carbide-tipped teeth of his bayonet bite into a drone's shoulder. The monster gave a loud, piercing roar as Joseph sawed straight through it's ribcage in an explosion of flesh and guts. Another Locust grabbed Joseph's arm and tried to tear it off at the shoulder, but not before the young man had shoved the whirring chainsaw against it's throat. A very short, gurgled scream emitted from the Locust's mouth, before the head fell clean off and disappeared in the mess of gristle and blood on the trench floor. The chainsaw, however, didn't stop. Joseph found himself swinging it in a wild arc, before slamming it into the helmet of a Locust Troika-gunner. The teeth continued to drag for just a moment, but then came to a sudden, grinding stop as they were caught in the metal of the helmet. The Locust roared in agony and lurched sideways, ripping the Lancer from Joseph's hands.

"Yaaaarrrrggghhhh!!!" screamed the second Gear as he struggled to saw through the upper torso of a heavily armored Theron Sentinel. Suddenly, the man's head completely disappeared in the grip of a massive Boomer. The huge, walking tank roared with fiendish delight, almost like a child getting a shiny new toy to play with, and gave the COG soldier's head a mighty squeeze. The muffled, panicked screaming was short, for a moment later blood and brain tissues were seeping from inbetween the Boomer's fingers.

And then, as if by magic, the Boomer seemed to explode. It's arm was ripped clean off, it's head obliterated, it's stomach ripped apart, it's ribcage smashed. Pulling his Longshot off his back, Joseph whipped around to see Harold wading through the carnage with Big Bertha blazing in all directions. "Cry some more," he roared, his eyes wild as he continued to fire his chain-gun.

Desperate the stay alive and already wounded by a piece of shrapnel in his right thigh, Joseph began to use his Longshot as a club, battering and smashing like a wild animal as he sought to find a way to Harold. Limbs gave with a loud crack, skulls splintered, ribs shattered. Something snagged on Joseph's arm, before tearing away with a loud ripping sound. Joseph heard someone scream in agony; with a start, he realized it was him.

And then suddenly it was over. The surviving Locust scrambled from the trench and took off as fast as their legs could take them. Most were in some way wounded, and many were cut down before they could make it far. The braver Locust, such as the Theron Guards, turned to fire their weapons at the Gears. These were cut down by a withering volley of punishing firepower. Private Donald manned a Troika and turned it around on the previous owners, making sure not to aim at specific targets and follow his training: keep as many bullets in the air as you could, concentrate on a single specific area.

As soon as the Locust were too far away to effectively shoot at, or were all dead, the men of Hammer Battalion let off the triggers and reloaded their weapons. Ammunition from the dead bodies was passed around to replenish that of the survivors. Then they waited, hoping that the Locust wouldn't attempt to burrow under them and end up back in the trenches with fresh troops. But the Emergence Holes didn't come, and eventually the men relaxed.

Sergeant Pappas nudged a Locust Troika-gunner, shot through the chest cavity by a sniper rifle, with the end of his Lancer. He immediately noticed several tattoos on its left shoulder; two of them looked fresh.

"Hey Sarge, come look at this!"

Shouldering his weapon, Pappas turned to his men. Out of the original squad of nine men, only five remained; he'd lost one durign the charge and three more in the battle for the trench.

"What exactly am I looking at, Yang?"

The young PFC quickly pointed at the body of a Locust drone. "It's got all these strange tattoos on it!"

Pappas knelt down and stared at the Locust's let shoulder, long and hard. There were around twenty of those tattoos again, though none looked very fresh. Then there was the fact that one of the fingers on the creature's left hand was missing, there were scars all over its body, its armor was scratched and faded, and its head had grown the distinctive ridge of a Grenadier.

"This drone has seen a lot of action," stated the Sergeant matter-of-factly. He pointed at the tattoos on its shoulder. "See those tats? Those are kills. Drones get one mark per kill. This one was doing quite well, as you can see, though it probably had numerous other kills that just couldn't be confirmed. Dirty bastards."

Pappas gave the drone a good swift kick to the ribs. Fresh blood spurted from the bullet wounds it had sustained during the battle.

"Sergeant Pappas?"

The veteran Gear quickly turned to face Captain Hendricks, commanding officer of the entirety of Lancer Company. He gave a hasty salute as the officer approached him. "Alive and reporting for duty, Captain!"

Hendricks nodded, and for a moment Pappas almost thought he saw the faintest glimmer of relief in the Captain's old, grizzled features. "Good to know, Sergeant. How many men did your platoon take?" 

"My platoon, sir?"

"That's what I said. How many?"

"I... I wouldn't know, sir. I'm a Sergeant, not a Lieutenant."

Hendricks shook his head. "Not anymore. Lieutenant Yang is dead; got torn in half by Troika fire. Lost most of his face and all of his lower jaw. I'm promoting you to Lieutenant."

The grizzled old Captain offered forward his hand. Pappas gratefully took it. "Congratulations. Who will you be choosing as Sergeant?"

Pappas hardly took time to think. "Private Donald Henshin, sir. He's the best choice there is for Sergeant, and he's seen more action than most of the young men we have here. He's right over there."

Hendricks nodded and handed Pappas his officer's patch, which he was to stick on his left shoulder or his right breast. "It's your job to find out how many losses 2nd Platoon took, and to lead them into battle. If this were the Pendulum Wars you wouldn't get to receive an official promotion, but we can't just send you off to Officer's Training nowadays. We need you here. Good luck."

With that, the Captain walked away to find the next platoon. Pappas took the opportunity to approach Donald, who was taking the opportunity to practice his accuracy on a line of several decapitated Locust heads.

"Henshin," he said, "I've got some news for you."

Donald lowered his pistol and saluted his Sergeant. "Sir, would it happen to be bad news?"

Pappas laughed. "What? Why, I never! Donald, you're going to be a Sergeant! Specifically that of Omega Squad, of course."

Immediately realizing what was happening, Donald grasped his new Lieutenant's hand and shook it thoroughly. "Aw man, thanks Sarge!"

Pappas looked offended.

"Er... I mean, Lieutenant!"

"That's better," replied Pappas as he handed Donald his rank insignia. "Now, you take care of the Squad, ok? Don't get any of them young boys killed like I did." 

Donald nodded resolutely. "Don't worry sir, It's all under controls. The Squad is in good hands."

"For your sake, Sergeant, I hope it is. I hope it is."

With that, Pappas turned and walked away.

--------------------------------

**Sorry for the short chapter. I might rewrite it and lengthen it by a couple paragraphs. Maybe add some new plot element. In other words, your typical "Patch."**

**Anyway, thanks for reading! Plz R&R.**


	4. Being Hunted

**DISCLAIMER: in no way do I own Gears of War, nor do I own Epic (or any of its stock) or any of its subsidaries. This is fanfiction material, pure and simple, and should be treated as such. Any similarities to the overall storyline of the upcoming Gears of War 2 (and 3) is purely unintentional. Thank you for reading, and remember; please don't sue me!**

**Here it is, at long last, Chapter 4 of Into Hell We Go. This chapter is a little short by my standards, and I wanted to make it longer, but I had to go with what I had. So please read.**

**An interesting fact: I wrote the first section of the chapter, which is about three good paragraphs and two independent sentences long, sometime around the beginning of the school year back in 2007. This is now near the end of the school year, 2008, and I just finished writing the rest of the chapter (in a single day). Period of short activity... long period of inactivity... Sudden burst of activity, and... Post.**

----

**MARCH 13, 9 A.E.D (After Emergence-Day), 7:59 AM, THE EAST BARRICADE ACADEMY**

The grim-faced sergeant stepped slowly out of the King Raven helicopter. He stood there for a moment, the helicopter lifting off behind him, unaffected by the downdraft of the blades. Through his one good eye he surveyed the fifteen new recruits; most of them cringed beneath his piercing glare. In place of his left arm was a small stump, covered by a pinned-up sleeve.

"My name is Sergeant-Major Hooker. You will address me by my rank, followed and or proceeded by the loudest 'Yes sir' you can muster. Failure to do so will result in punishment that is best worth not mentioning. You will arrive here in the parade-grounds at precisely 8:00 AM, or so help me _god_, I will hang you upside down by your toes. After roll-call you will march single-file into the Mess Hall and eat breakfast in five minutes or less.

"Immediately following your breakfast you will be put through the cruelest, most grueling training excersises we can think of. At exactly 12:00 PM you will then jog to the Mess Hall and be served your dinner. The last man to arrive will not, and I repeat, _not_ receive any food whatsoever. After dinner you will march single-file to the firing range. Every week you will suffer through a live-fire excersise and be forced to make your way from one end of the obstacle course to the other. Water will be evenly distributed every day; try not to waste it. Am I clear?"

Though most of the recruits were visibly quaking in their boots, they were all able to put up a rousing "Sir, Yes Sir!"

Sergeant-Major Hooker smiled haphazardly. "Good. Get suited up... You have ten minutes."

----

Over the next few days the recruits were put to the test; they were pushed to their very limits, and then beyond. By the end of the week three of the recruits had been thrown out, mostly by their own consent. The excersise regimen was, to say the least, excrutiating. If it weren't for the fact that there were around thirty other trainees at the Academy, it was very likely that Norman and Carmine would have dropped out.

It was always freezing cold at the Academy, as it was dead-set in winter and there were only three heaters in the entire complex. All of them were inaccessible to the trainees.

You _always_ trotted _everywhere_ at East Barricade. It didn't matter if you'd sprained your ankle or torn a ligament, you were expected to jog to your destination unless ordered to do so otherwise. Needless to say, marching was a rarity. It seemed that nobody saw any real value in marching anymore... after all, where would you march to? The Locust would tear through a column of marching Gears like a hot knife through butter, or so it was said.

About three times a week an alert sounded and everyone had to scramble out of bed, suit up and play soldier. The trainees learned to put on their armor in under a minute, a surprising feat considering that it took them twice that time to put on their fatigues. They also had to learn to dissassemble, clean and maintain all their weapons and kit.

Despite all of this, the trainees were expected to shower every morning, shave, and do all those other little chores that usually took up a quarter of an hour. Some of the boys became pretty fair barbers, but a clean sweep like a billard ball was acceptable and anyone can do that. At roll call every morning when a trainee's name was called out he didn't say "Here!". Instead they all responded with "Bathed!". Some of the guys could lie about it and get away with it (everybody smelled the same after a few days), but at least one person who pulled the dodge in the face of convicting evidence found themselves being scrubbed with stiff brushes and floor soap while an assistant corporal-instructor looked on.

Sleeping became almost a pasttime among the trainees. Everybody got twenty minutes of free-time after lunch (a fact not reported by 'Sarge Coon-Ass', as Hooker was known), unless it was taken up by extra duties such as cleaning floors and sweeping out the barracks. Most everybody just fell asleep wherever they could find a spot, and stayed that way until someone woke them up. A couple trainees learned the hard-way that finding a secluded area would often wind up with a much-feared result: no-one would know where they were and they would sleep right through weapons training. This was not a good thing.

Of course, as Norman would later remember, basic training was not impossible (regardless of its description). It was merely made to be as _hard as possible._ The instructors were very good at making things hard, needless to say.

Some people might think that basic training is a period of sheer meanness, calculated sadism and the fiendish delight of witless morons in making other people suffer. It was not. It was much too scheduled, much too intellectual, too efficiently and impersonally organized to be cruelty for the sick pleasure of cruelty. It was planned like surgery for the simple purpose that it _was_ surgery; a process meant to weed out the weak and unfit, and to toughen and strengthen the strong and durable.

But, much more important than carving away the fat quickly and saving everybody the training costs of those who would never cut it, was the prime purpose of making as sure as was humanely possible that no Gear ever went into combat unless he was prepared for it; fit, resolute, disciplined, and skilled in the art of cold-blooded murder. If the Gear is not up-to-standard in all of these criteria, then you might as well be sending in an untrained boy to fight. If not it is very unfair, both for his comrades and for humanity itself.

As Norman Terrol later put it: "Whenever I go into combat, the man on my flank better be a graduate of East Barricade Academy, or sure as hell I'm not getting in the helicopter."

----

Carmine continued to fire downrange into his target. He liked the lancer; it was a good weapon. The only problem was that the chain had been taken off the chainsaw bayonet. All Carmine wanted was something to tear into, and the chainsaw to do it with.

Norman dropped his empty clip and took another one off the rack. He clicked it into position and took aim; as he did so, a fresh target popped up to replace the old, chewed-up one.

"This is bullshit, man," grunted Norman inbetween shots. "We're out here in the freeze all day long, and I'll be damned if Coon-Ass isn't watching us through some window with a mug of hot coffee."

A heavy hand suddenly appeared on Norman's shoulder. He froze.

"What's that, private?" came the cold, husky voice of Hooker. "You'd like three days extra duties? Tomorrow at 01200, report to the sick bay."

Norman clenched his jaw to prevent another scathing comment from escaping. He was scared shitless by the sheer prospect of the Sergeant-Major being able to sneak up behind him without being noticed.

"Oh-twelve-hundred. That's an order." He left.

Carmine chuckled. "Boy, didn't that motherfucker ever have a mother?"

One of the other trainees stopped shooting just long enough to reply. "Don't you know anything about sergeants, Carmine?"

Carmine shook his head. "No, but I'm willing to learn more."

"They don't have mothers. They reproduce by fission... like all bacteria."

----

**MAY 26, 11 YEARS A.E.D. (After Emergence Day), 12:53 PM, OUTSKIRTS OF EPHYRA:**

The alleyway was a complete mess. The dumpsters were chewed all to hell by troika fire, huge chunks had been taken out of the walls, blood streaked the entire environment and the slaughtered Locust piled up on either side like mangled bricks.

Raphael let off the triggers as the last grenadier went down in a torrent of blood, guts and intestines. Exhausted, his adrenalin rush wearing off, he slumped forward.

"Damn..." Jacob whistled whimsily at the carnage and kicked at a dead drone. The puddles of water were filled with gore, now joined by the drone's decapitated head.

Saunders dropped his dry clip and smacked another one into place. "Raph, you ok?"

Raphael sat down on the block of cement next to the Troika. "Not too good, Ave, but I've had worse. Everything's all bloody."

The sergeant hopped over and surveyed the bloody left side of his face. His ear had been taken clean off by a troika bullet.

"Hold on, you'll be fine. Just lost an ear, that's all." He pulled a rag out of his belt and tore off a length. "Here, just hold still a moment."

The corporal sat perfectly still, albeit gritting his teeth, as Saunders wrapped the rag around his head. Tightly.

"There, that should staunch the bloodflow and protect what's left. Damn, that troika did a number on that dumpster..."

Nearby Vinny was looking back down the alley they had come out of. "Hey, Sarge! We'd best get moving, I think I just heard a grub hole open up back there."

Saunders nodded. "Good idea. You and Jacob get Norman, I'll help Raphael."

The corporal shrugged him off. "Hey, wadda you think I am, a cripple? I lost an ear and a bit of armor, is all."

The sergeant grunted. "Ok, you can walk. Let's go."

----

It was a long and grueling trek to the Stranded camp, even if it was only about two miles away. There was really no direct way to get there; no straight open route. The Gears had to make their way as stealthily as possible from one alleyway to another. When they had to cross a street, they would do so as fast as they could, preferably using the cover of cars or other vehicles.

As they went, Saunders noticed that the frequency of emergence holes and ominous rumblings in the ground was increasing. Many times he stopped the squad on a hunch. More than once, he was right; large groups of Locust passed right through the area, accompanied by boomers and berserkers on more than one occasion. Once, an entire legion of drones led by theron guards and sentinels marched past. Reavers flew through the air above in small flocks.

"What do you think is going on?" asked Raphael, watching from within what had once been a repair shop. The legion of well over two hundred Locust continued to march on by, grunting a loud rythmic chant to keep up the pace.

"Maybe they want what we want," replied Saunders. "The energy pulse was big enough for all the Locust in a thirty mile radius to notice it."

Raphael nodded, remembering the massive energy pulse detected over long-range scanners just two days before. It had emanated somewhere around the center of Ephyra, with an epicenter located smack-dab on top of the huge COG Cathedral. The Gear snorted at the thought that Command would send just one squad to investigate, when the city had one of the highest Locust concentrations on the continent.

"Come on, let's get back to the squad."

Raphael nodded and crept back softly. No way was he going to become Wretch fodder.

----

The General watched from the top of a twelve story office building as his Legions flocked towards the center of the city. He had already established a strong presence at the huge Cathedral that the pulse had started from; more Legions were coming up from beneath it. Communication went fast amongst the Locust.

A Theron Sentinel stepped over and grunted in a deep, guttural tone. Berithk turned towards his bodyguard and barked in reply.

"_One of your sweeper units made contact with the Gears, mighty General._"

"_What was the result?_"

"_The unit was wiped out, mighty General. The humans got away._"

Berithk turned coldly aside and looked back down at his passing Legions.

"_Continue searching. Post scouts and snipers in the area. Detach sweeper units to engage if possible._"

"_Yes mighty General. May the will of the Queen be done._"

The General snarled. Somewhere, out there, was a squad of Gears lost deep in his own territory. He didn't know what they wanted. He didn't know where they were.

But he knew where they were going.

----

**The plot thickens. I've decided to actually add a plot, in fact. Here's a little backstory: near the center of Ephyra city, there was a massive energy pulse. The COG doesn't know what caused it, or what it is, so they dispatched Gnasher squad to investigate. Gnasher squad's King Raven was shot down. General Berithk is similiarly investigating the energy pulse, but is moving most of or all of his forces towards the center of the city. There is a Stranded camp, a large one as Stranded camps go, led by a man named Jackal. That is where Gnasher squad is headed.**

**Anyway, drop a review on your way out... OR I WILL TORQUE-BOW YOUR ASS! More to come later.**


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